Love
by ArtemisRoseShadow
Summary: He didn't mind the insanity.


xxxx

Today, he broke a lamp, a mirror, a coffee mug, and their new television. He broke things when it was getting too quiet, or he was getting to anxious. Ryou assumed it was because he was still adjusting to his own body, even after 2 years in it. After all, he'd been living off of Ryou's for so long, it was centuries after he had his own, once upon a time.

Bakura had carved heiroglyphics into the wall with the broken lamp, symbols that were meaningless to Ryou, yet caused Bakura to tear up and claw at his skin. When Ryou had finally calmed him down--placating him with a hand massage, and convincing Bakura to cut his nails in the process-- Bakura had fallen asleep, and Ryou thought it would be safe to leave for a few minutes to grab a few groceries from the store down the road.

He was wrong.

When the hikari had returned, Bakura was not sleepingly cutely on the couch where he had left him. At first, Ryou wasn't so worried, until he heard manic screams and shouts from the upstairs bathroom. Leaping up the stairs, he swung the door open to find Bakura kneeling on the floor, broken shards of mirror glass all around him and a few still in the frame above the sink. The yami had a long shard in his left hand, right wrist cut to ribbons, bleeding freely, though a sigh of relief left him when he saw that they were shallow cuts, no veins where hit. He was stripped of his pants, and his pale thighs were lacerated with a myriad of cuts, from razor-thin to ones looking like he had hacked himself with a chainsaw.

"What did you do?!" Ryou cried, rushing over to him and yanking the shard from his hand, cutting his own in the process, but just barely, it was only a scratch. He tossed it into the trash and took Bakura's wrist in his hand, carefully examining the cuts. Bakura sat there limply. "Were you trying to kill yourself?!"

"... I needed to see the blood." he whispered, sounding hoarse. "I couldn't let it stay trapped in there."

The young boy just shook his head and grabbed a wet cloth and started dapping at the cuts, cleaning the blood away. Bakura winced but made no move to stop him. "Yami, you're scaring me. You know I hate it when you do this."

"... You're right. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I just wish you'd agree to get help. Or talk to me. Or Malik. Anyone. You need to get this out. You can't keep doing this to yourself." he whispered, worry in his large brown eyes as he finished the cuts on Bakura's wrists, moving to the ones on his naked thigh, trying not to blush. "These might need stitches."

"I don't like doctors."

"We can't leave them open like this."

"Why not?"

"My God, Yami! They could get infected, and you could faint from loss of blood!" Ryou said, knowing it was a lie. The cuts on his wrist were already starting to heal, one of the few powers Bakura had managed to hold onto in his switch from spirit to human. But Ryou knew they would still scar.

"I love you, Ryou."

"... I know."

xxxx

Ryou had finally patched up all Bakura's wounds successfully, though it was hard to keep him from scratching at them, complaining that they itched and burned. He had distracted him by sitting on the couch and having Bakura lie his head in his lap, so he could run his fingers through Bakura's soft hair and pull at the strands gently, massaging his scalp. It was one of the only ways to calm him down, and had him purring like a kitten in minutes.

"Ryou, am I crazy?"

There was a long pause before he answered.

"Yes, I'm afraid you are."

He didn't have the heart to lie to him.

Bakura didn't seem to mind, though, he just hummed and nodded, closing his eyes and sighing, nuzzling against Ryou's lap.

xxxx

He knew what Bakura needed. It was obvious when he was like this, destroying things all day, especially himself. He knew, because, when the lights went out and he was ready for bed, Bakura would be there, lying in the middle of the bed, spread like a sacrifice to the Devil, all white hair and pale skin and red scars on red sheets and black nails on bone-thin hands, those beautiful hands clutched in the sheets above his head, shaking, nervous. Pleading.

And Ryou wouldn't deny him.

The smaller boy would crawl over him after stripping himself of his shirt, chest against chest and skin against skin, marveling at how similiar they were, and yet so different. Ryou was addicted to Bakura's skin, his hair, his frame, his everything. He'd caress every single inch of porcelain skin, gently because, even through all of the sheer power that his Yami radiated, physically, he was frail. Fragile. Breakable.

His skin was soft, though littered with scars, and no ounce of fat could ever be found on him. Like silk stretched across a wire frame, he was soft to look at, soft to touch, but you'd feel the sharpness of his bones when you embraced him. Ryou didn't mind, though. Because when they were like this, alone, at night, nothing between them except skin and sweat, they were perfect. He'd kiss every scar on his Yami's body, worshipping each one, and Bakura had never felt so wanted.

So beautiful.

There was no sane or insane here. There wasn't a status, no expectations, _nothing_. Nothing except Ryou and Bakura and everything that made them so amazing, so perfect, together.

Ryou didn't mind the scars, the broken lamps, the ruined mirrors, the words on the walls. It was all part of Yami. His Yami. All Bakura needed was to be loved, to be forgiven, for all his past sins, and for all his present insanity. Ryou forgave him. And tonight, for the first time, when Bakura and Ryou turned into a mess of tangled limbs and moans and screams, when Bakura gasped against his ear and panted, "I love you.", Ryou said it back.

And he meant it.

Love.


End file.
